


lets jump ahead to the moment of epiphany

by willindisguise



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Malec, Pining, Self-Discovery, alec "gay panic" lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willindisguise/pseuds/willindisguise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks:   fuck this, fuck them, fuck all of them.</p><p>He hears Lydia’s voice in his head, a mirror of her earlier words:   you deserve to be happy.</p><p>He thinks:   I want this, I want this, I want this. I am allowed to have what I want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lets jump ahead to the moment of epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy folks. 
> 
> So I actually started this fic way back before the Shadowhunters TV show had even aired its first episode, based off of all the spoilers that were going around. Since then I've added to it and changed bits and finally ended up with this after 1x12.
> 
> Its unedited, but I'm fairly happy with the state its in, and kind of desperate to get it out of my drafts! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also, come by my tumblr (nbpxrsphone.tumblr.com) and say hi!
> 
> I also hate to add this, but I'm in a bit of a dire financial situation, so it would be great if anyone reading this could check out my gofundme (https://www.gofundme.com/26zbprw), of course, I'd be happy to write something for anybody who donated anything, no matter how small. If you did do this, just send me an ask on tumblr with a request or something, and I'd be happy to write something just for you!

Alec has never been a slave to adrenaline. To  _ exhilaration _ . It's useful, sure, the thrill of the hunt, but he has never been one to give himself over for it. He’s never sought out the crashing beat of his heart, like Jace and Isabelle do.

 

Alec lightwood lives with his two feet firmly on the ground, and his head in the game, eyes sharp and on the target, eyes sharp and on Jace’s back, because this is his job, what he does. Alec Lightwood, Shadowhunter, Parabatai,  _ protector. _

 

The boom, boom,  **_boom_ ** of his heart usually means that he has made a  _ mistake _ . That he shot too slow, that he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t good enough. His heart speeds and races when he lets anyone down, when he's faced by the _ disappointment  _ in his father's face. 

 

 

 

Jace Wayland is beautiful, and terrible, and brave, and Alec would follow him to the ends of the earth, to hell and back again. Alec would kill and die for him. This is what it is to be a Parabatai. Following his footsteps in PANDEMONIUM is as easy as breathing, watching him so close to the demon sends a spark hot and quick through his blood, but his breathing is steady. Everything according to plan. He lives for this, pieces clicking into place.

 

Then comes the girl, red hair and petulance and this was not how their night was supposed to go. You can’t question the dead, but the fight comes easy, helping the slaughter comes easy. It's in his blood and in his bones, right down to the marrow of him.

 

The fight comes easy, but the failure burns hot on his cheeks and soon settles, a heavy weight deep down in his limbs. The shame of it -- by the angel, he would like to kill Clary Fray. He’d like her to go back to whatever mundane hole she crawled out of and stay there. She has ruined his mission and fuck, the way Jace looks at her, like she is a mystery he can’t wait to solve, a crucial piece of a puzzle he has been holding onto for far too long. He hates her, he hates her, he  _ hates  _ her. 

 

 

 

Magnus Bane is a mirage of moonlight and sparkles, a flicker in the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure in the pictures and in his mind, a  _ fairytale _ . Jace and Isabelle move away, and Alec is left to look. Fingers skimming over the face on the display, makeup and glitter and monstrous eyes, a  _ warlock _ , to be  _ protected _ . A being that has lived for years and years, unflinching, unafraid.

 

His heart doesn’t beat faster, but his stomach clenches with an odd sort of longing. Not for the man, but for his manner, to live so freely and so bravely.

 

He stamps it out, quenching the flare of feeling in his gut.

 

Magnus Bane is nothing to him, not really. Alec could never truly value any downworlder, no matter how useful Warlocks proved to be. They were all made from the same terrible stuff, children of darkness and demons and things that go bump in the night. He saves the man anyway, because that is the job he has been given. His arrow soars, Magnus turns, and it's different than Alec thought it would be. Magnus’ eyes seem to pierce into his soul, searching, wondering. His heart thrums. The Warlock’s mouth moves, soundless to Alec’s ears. (What had he said? What had he said? It had been too quick, too fleeting, and the need to know settled deep in Alec’s gut.) Alec’s eyes meet his and his heart goes boom.

 

And then Magnus is gone.

 

Magnus is safe.

 

And Alec steadies himself, thinks  _ ‘good riddance. _ ’

 

But he can’t be grateful for long, because fuck, they needed this man so badly. Magnus was the key to unlocking Clarissa Fairchild’s memories. Now here she is, shaken and whining and useless and Alec wants to just be done with this. He wants to stop feeling like his world is shaking apart around him. He wants to take Isabelle and Jace back to the Institute and he wants everything to be normal.

 

But Alexander Lightwood doesn’t often get what he wants.

 

Its duty that makes him clasp his hand with Jace's, that makes him focus all his mind on finding Magnus Bane. Not duty to the Clave or Consul or Law. Just duty to Jace. Just the expectant look in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Alec is almost twenty-one years old. He is an adult, by every standard. He is serious and competent and trustworthy and _selfless_. Alec is almost twenty-one years old, and he has been in love, but he has never been _in_ _love_. He remembers being fifteen and how his stomach would clench at the way Jace’s hair caught the sunlight, how his breath caught at the mischievous glint in his eyes, and how his hand would slide down low at night as he thought about Jace, sweaty and glowing and shirtless in the training room. You could say that loving Jace Wayland was a cop-out, the easiest and safest alternative. But you’d be wrong. There is nothing easy about loving Jace Wayland. He does it anyway, no matter how it _ruins_ him.

 

 

 

Magnus Bane, above all, is a creature if  _ intent _ . Alec thinks he would have to be blind not to notice it. His body is a wildfire. He is too aware, too awake, too ill prepared to handle the look in Magnus’ eyes, to parse fully the meaning in every step the man makes towards him.

 

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

 

And the words hold intent too. A teasing lilt, a curious smile. (And he sees again, once more, Magnus for the first time. When he had turned and his mouth had moved, what had he been saying? What had he seen in Alec that had caused him to take pause.)

 

It shocks him, (thrills him, oh by the angel, it thrills him), startles him into a smile.

 

“Alec.” 

  
  


 

 

The attention Alec  _ doesn’t _ pay to Magnus Bane, to the room at large, is careful, practiced. An indifference born from knowing something is dangerous, but not life threatening. It’s a difficult task, but he prides himself on his ability to be cool, calm, and collected, even if on the inside he feels about as put together as a twelve year old girl. He focuses very hard on  _ not  _ listening, which seems to only make it harder.

 

“ _ Pretty boy _ , prepare your team.”

 

Jace smirks. Jace moves forward, ready to take control. A natural born leader.

 

And Alec Lightwood is not looking at Magnus, because looking leads to staring. (Maybe Magnus has cast some kind of charm, to mesmerize people? Sounds like something a Warlock would do.) He is not looking, so he doesn’t see the playful smile, nor the careful arch of a brow. He doesn’t see Magnus shift to gaze at him, but he feels the eyes boring into his skin.

 

Calm indifference, careful, practiced.

 

“Not you _ , _ ” Magnus says, voice filled with annoyance as he ushers Jace away, he gestures smoothly, voice softer suddenly. “ _ You _ .”

 

Not listening gets easier after that, sounds drowned out by a cacophony of sounds. Boom. Boom.  **Boom** .

 

He finds himself smiling, surprised, overwhelmed. (Magnus Bane has definitely charmed him. This must be magic.)

 

 

 

 

_ Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?” _

 

_ “When? _ ”

 

 

 

 

Jace says go to Magnus’. Jace says Magnus needs him, needs his strong, shadowhunter energy. Jace says, Jace says, Jace says. For once, Alec thinks he might not listen. Until he does. Until his world is jarred right open. Until he thinks  _ fuck this, fuck all of it, fuck them _ .

 

The thing about Alexander is that he never had his rebellious teenager phase. Perhaps he could blame that for the way he is acting now, for the way his feet carry him all the way to Brooklyn. He feels like he's being hunted, like he's committing a crime. The city is loud and jarring around him, but he slips unseen around mundanes all the way to the imposing home of Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.

 

Boom, 

         boom, 

                  boom.

 

_ What are you doing, Alec _ ? His mind races. This is wrong. This is a mistake. Just turn around, tell him you’re done here, and go home.

 

Alec Lightwood is sensible. Alec Lightwood doesn’t do things like this. Alec lightwood does not partake in any sort of dalliance with  _ downworlders _ .

 

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t go home. 

 

 

 

 

_ I didn’t do it for Jace. I did it for me. _

 

This, Alec thinks. Is a revolutionary development. Every action he has undertaken in years has been for someone else. For his sister. For his parents. For the Clave. For  _ Jace _ .

 

Sometimes, Alec isn’t quite sure how to be a person on his own. How to be a person without the law to guide him.

 

Jace calls, and Alec comes, eventually. Alec comes and holds a Warlock’s hand, steadies him with a grip on his shoulder.

 

Magnus needed him. Needed his strength.

 

Alec comes and he saves a werewolves life.

 

It leaves him shaking, but not as badly as Magnus. And it leaves him breathless.

 

He feels, for the first time in weeks, like he’s done something good. Because Lucian Greymark might be a monster, but he didn’t deserve to hurt and he didn’t deserve to die.

 

But still, when all is said and done and all that is left is Alec and Magnus, he should call it a day. He should run home, wash the feeling of the evening from his skin in a too hot shower. But he doesn’t. He cleans werewolf blood from the soft fabric of the couch and hesitates and when Magnus offers him a drink he screws his courage to the sticking place and accepts the offer.

 

Its fire, going down his throat. He doesn’t drink, much. Isn’t allowed yet even by mundane standards, and he’d rather keep a clear head in most situations.

 

Magnus talks, and talks, and talks, and says the most wondrous things. Declares things that Alec can never reciprocate. It rocks his world, the way he finds himself wanting to.

 

The phone call should be his saving grace.

 

He should go. Follow orders. Leave Magnus and never see him again, not ever.

 

But.

 

_ “Stay. Just for one more drink.” _

 

Alec finds it very hard to say no.

  
  
  


 

 

“Alexander Lightwood…” Magnus’ voice is dreamy, wondering. Alec isn’t sure if he will ever get used to hearing his name, sounding like that, on the lips of someone like Magnus Bane. “...When was the last time you had  _ fun _ ?”

 

Alec raises an eyebrow, quizzically. Magnus seemed slow to comprehend the fact that they were two very different kind of beings. Magnus asked the question like it was important, like Alec should have built his life around fun and games and parties and friends. But fun is not what it means to be a Shadowhunter.

 

Still, it throws him off. When was the last time he had had fun, truly?

 

In the typical style of Alec Lightwood, his unsettlement puts him on the defensive. He can feel his own shoulders stiffening.

 

“I’m a  _ Shadowhunter _ , Magnus. What does it matter when the last time I had fun was?”

 

When Magnus reaches out to tuck away a stray strand of Alec’s hair, his breath catches sharply in his throat, and he finds, suddenly, that looking at Magnus is impossible.

 

“It matters.” 

  
  


 

 

He leaves Magnus, and Alec feels like a  _ livewire _ . He feels high as a fucking kite. He feels like he's killed a demon for the first time all over again, like he's held a bow in his hand and felt its power. It terrifies him. He places a hand on his own chest, as if he could force the unsteady pounding in his heart to cease.

 

He didn’t understand Magnus Bane. Didn’t understand why the man seemed so invested in the company of  _ someone like Alec _ . Plain, and boring, and stiff, and so different from himself.

 

_ You’ve awakened something in me _ .

 

It isn’t right. Its the farthest thing from right there has ever been. Alec Lightwood is not allowed to want Magnus, and Magnus should not be allowed to make him feel like this with just some talking and a simple touch.

 

_ You’re just attention starved _ , he thinks.  _ Jace and Izzy are spending too much time with the little girl. You just want someone to pay attention to you _ .

 

He crawls into bed with loose, tired limbs that night, and thinks of Jace. Jace, like a golden god. His hair, his eyes, his lips, his slow smile, the feeling of Jace's skin under the palms of his hand. This too is thrilling, awful, terrifying, but  _ familiar _ , at least.

 

Desire is a slick, sickening shame. Longing like damnation tugging at his heart. He should show restraint, push these sick feelings away and be the man he was born to be, the Lightwood heir. He should be better than this.

 

When he falls asleep he dreams a familiar dream, hazy and fuzzy and distant. Jace with his golden hair, golden eyes, golden heart. Jace pressed against him, so close and so warm and so _ Jace  _ that it aches. Everything about him is perfect except--

 

His golden eyes are cat-like, slitted, demon marked.

 

  
  


The thing is that he has spent his entire life terrified of being found lacking. Disappointment is the worst punishment he can be faced with. And he is a failure, now, perhaps always, in his parents eyes. More than they know.

 

The grief catches sharp in his throat, and he feels the childish urge to tell them that it's  _ not fair _ .

 

He has brought dishonour to his family, and they will not say it to his face but he knows it all the same.

 

But.

 

He is Alexander Lightwood. He breaks noses and accepts the consequences.

 

Lydia Branwell is a...solution. A brief but painful solution. A perfectly agreeable woman, a perfectly advantageous wedding. This was how life was supposed to go, wasn’t it? Marry a good Shadowhunter woman, make many many tiny shadowhunter babies, be respectable.

 

Her hair is golden, like Jaces.

 

Jace will never love him.

 

Alec will never love Lydia Branwell. But when have his feelings ever mattered? Never, not once.

 

 

  
  
  


He isn’t gay. He just isn’t. Gay isn’t a word Alec is even allowed to know. The idea of liking men should be so far off his radar that it's laughable. He’s just...confused, clearly. He’s been confused for years. He’s heard people talking, once or twice, about the powerful effect the Parabatai bond can have on people. When you tie your soul to another person's, feelings are bound to get muddled up. That’s why loving your Parabatai romantically is forbidden, taboo. Shadowhunters don’t have time for foolish flights of fancy, for illicit affairs. They need clear heads and clear hearts.

 

He remembers an elderly Shadowhunter man who had come to stay with them briefly when Alec was twelve. It was always odd, seeing a Shadowhunter that had made it to old age. Surely it meant that they man was magnificent, brave, a skilled fighter. He had survived where so many had not, so Alec couldn’t understand the tense, unforgiving tension in his parents’ eyes. They looked disgusted. They looked like, if they had been allowed to, they would have rathered to refuse the man, to send him away.

 

It's Isabelle who gets the story. The man’s  _ parabatai  _ had fallen in love with him. And Alec had thought,  _ well, alright _ . It was understandable, the man had been part of a scandal.

 

But he had been struck by the heartbreak of it, chest tightening.

 

“What was her name?” He’d asked, hating the soft edge to his voice.

 

“ _ Nathaniel _ .”

 

Alec had glanced over at Jace, bright and golden in the distance, and felt the sting of his brand new Parabatai mark, and thought,  _ oh _ .

 

 

 

 

He wishes that Magnus Bane were not so all encompassing. He wishes that Magnus did not know how to wring smiles and laughs out of him, wishes Magnus didn’t have the power to see through every wall Alec built up. One glance, and it had felt like Magnus knew Alec better than Alec knew himself. And it wouldn’t be a problem, it wouldn’t, if it didn’t make Alec’s heart clench.

 

The softness in Magnus’ gaze. His warm smiles. His hope.

 

Alec feels like a monster for hurting him, when Magnus so clearly wants, so clearly cares. Magnus knows who Alec is, sees him for who he is. Not just a good Shadowhunter. Not just a good soldier.

 

“Family is more important to me than anything. You have to know that.”

 

“I know.”

 

Alexander Lightwood doesn’t want to break Magnus Bane’s heart. 

 

 

 

A bow and quiver have been Alec’s constant companions since childhood. The moment during his childhood when his fingers had first closed around a bow, gently touched the fletching of an arrow, he had known this was meant for him.

 

It became natural, as easy as breathing, to reach for his bow. He felt safer with it in his hands, like he could face any evil, defeat any foe. All he had to do was keep his breaths steady and his aim true, and he knew that when his arrow hit its target, his heart would  _ soar _ .

 

To be asked to give his most prized possessions up, and by Magnus Bane of all people… it sets his heart to burning. He swallows thick, wanting to say no. Wanting to say, fuck you. Wanting to say, why do you keep doing this to me?

 

But he thinks of Izzy, who is always so quick to sacrifice her happiness for his, always so quick to jump to his defense even if it means getting in trouble herself, who has risked everything just to save a life she truly believed was innocent. He thinks of Izzy, and knows that he’ll do anything that needs to be done to help her.

 

Boom. Boom. Boom.

 

His heart races for the entire trial, fear catching heavy in his throat. If this goes badly, he’ll lose his sister forever. Isabelle, so small and so brilliant and so bright, will never be able to be a part of his life again. Stripped of her runes and utterly defenseless, he doubts that she would survive longer than a month in the mundane world, with demons hunting after her. She’d be gone, and oh god, he can’t stand the thought of losing her. The muscles in his back coil tighter and tighter and tighter throughout the proceedings, as he listens to Magnus and Isabelle and Lydia speaking so beautifully.

 

When Lydia throws the case out of court, he feels himself sink, like a marionette with its strings cut. He allows himself a brief second to thi nk _ thank fucking god  _ before he’s up on his feet, holding his sister close.

 

His eyes find Magnus almost against his own will, and he knows how he looks. Happy and grateful and breathless from it. Their eyes lock and confetti flies and his heart goes  _**boom** , _ softly, one last time, before the Inquisitor speaks and it finds reason to sink again.

 

 

_ “I have no idea what to do with these. You hold onto them for me.” _

 

The words echo in his head as he watches Magnus walk away, confusion and exhilaration mixing in his blood and making him feel slightly drunk. He wishes Magnus would stop doing this to him. He wishes he could go five minutes in the other man's presence without Magnus trying to tear everything he as worked so carefully for apart in his hands. He wishes that the way Magnus’ fingers had brushed his when he handed the bow back hadn’t sent a spark of electricity through Alec’s body.

 

There is a part of him, a part that Alec doesn’t like to think too hard about, that knows that Magnus gave his payment back because he knew how much it mattered to Alec. See, Alec had bitterly thought that Magnus wanted to take something away from him. A petty form of revenge, maybe. And maybe he had wanted that, but when it came down to it, Magnus didn’t take it.

 

There’s a part of him that feels a little thrill at the fact that technically, technically Magnus does still own the precious objects in his hands. Technically, every time he uses them now, he’ll be using one of Magnus’ many odd possessions. It makes him feel hot under the collar, too warm and slightly… _conquered_. 

 

 

 

 

Alec feels like he's suffocating, like he's drowning, like the stiff collar of his white dress shirt is slowly choking the life out of him. It's a hell of a way to feel on your wedding day, but he thinks, resignedly, that as long as everything goes to plan, he’ll be fine. His life will follow the path he has painstakingly set it on, and he will live in a world of comforting surety. After the last few weeks, the idea of having something concrete and solid is almost comforting. Almost.

 

He just wishes that Izzy and Jace would stop looking at him like he was killing himself slowly. He wishes they would understand that he’s different from them. For him, duty has to come first. Family. Duty. Honor.

 

Love has no place in his life. Lydia is sturdy, safe, dependable,  _ likeable _ . She’s so fucking likeable, and it's lucky. Alec might never be happy, married to her, but he won’t be miserable for his entire life. They’ve proved over the last few weeks that they make fantastic friends.

 

Nothing goes to plan.

 

When Magnus Bane walks through the door, his heart stops. He feels the breath catch in his throat, feels panic swell like a tidal wave.

 

Alec has never been a slave to adrenaline. To  _ exhilaration _ . Alec lightwood lives with his two feet firmly on the ground, and his head in the game, eyes sharp and on the target, eyes sharp and on Jace’s back, because this is his job, what he does. Alec Lightwood, Shadowhunter, Parabatai,  _ protector.  _ But right now, staring unceasingly at Magnus Bane, and with Magnus Bane staring right back at him, he doesn’t really feel like any of that. He feels like a lost little boy facing down a pack of lions, he feels like he’s going to die from oxygen deprivation, and he feels like he really wants to step away from all of this and finally,  _ finally  _ kiss this maddening warlock.

 

The boom, boom,  **_boom_ ** of his heart usually means that he has made a  _ mistake _ . He steps away from the altar, and it starts beating in a cacophony of sound, blood rushing in his ears. He can hardly hear anything around him, though he is dimly aware that he is in a room full of clave representatives, who all must be making confused sounds, or whispering with curious, judging voices.

 

He thinks:  _ fuck this, fuck them, fuck all of them. _

 

He hears Lydia’s voice in his head, a mirror of her earlier words: _ you deserve to be happy. _

 

He thinks: _ I want this, I want this, I want this. I am allowed to have what I want. _

 

It might be the biggest mistake he ever makes, the way he grabs Magnus by the lapels and pulls him into a kiss. It might be a mistake, the way he puts all of his heart and soul into the action. It might be the action that finally tips him over the edge, the action that completely pulls apart every single thing he has ever worked to achieve. 

 

But then again, it might not be. He’s never known a Shadowhunter who got far by following his heart instead of his head, but he knows that he won’t end up anywhere but miserable if he lets this chance slip through his fingertips like so many grains of sand. 

 

  
He feels his own heart beating in his chest, loud as drums in his ears, and under his fingertips he can feel  _ Magnus’s  _ beating along with his own, and it is wonderful, and it is amazing, the quick fluttering beat of it, like a fragile little bird is living in his rib-cage, trying frantically to force its away out.

 

They break apart, briefly, and Magnus takes the time to look into Alec's eyes, almost like hes checking. Then, almost too quickly, they're kissing again, a hot slide of mouths with desperate clutching hands, and Alec once again feels vaguely conquered, like Magnus has won something from him. 

He's quite happy, in that moment, to surrender to it. 


End file.
